Lines 27.14–17 of the text published by Justin Stover as Apuleius, De Platone 3 are printed by him as follows:

In the second edition of the Oxford Latin Dictionary (2012) an otherwise laudable attempt to be more forthright in defining obscene terms seems to have introduced an error. The word irrumo was defined in the first edition of the dictionary as ‘to practise irrumatio on’, which is correct but unilluminating, especially since irrumatio was defined as ‘the action of an irrumator’. Irrumator was then defined as ‘one who submits to fellatio’, which is technically correct, though it suggests a passivity in the action that is not found in the lines from Catullus given as an example of its usage: praesertim quibus esset irrumator | praetor, nec faceret pili cohortem (‘not least when said praetor was a fuckface | and didn't give a shit for his poor staffers’, Catull. 10.11–12). In this poem Catullus is using the word irrumator as a term of abuse, suggesting that his praetor (in Bithynia) took advantage of his staff members rather than taking care that they too should reap some rewards from the province. Although the literal meaning is secondary to a more metaphorical use here, the charge is repeated with more direct reference to its sexual usage in Catull. 28.9–10: o Memmi, bene me ac diu supinum | tota ista trabe lentus irrumasti (‘Memmius, man, you really reamed me over, | force-fed me slowly with that giant whanger!’). In both cases it is clear that Catullus is an unwilling recipient of the praetor's attentions, and the action is aggressive and demonstrates the latter's ability to dominate his victim. It would not therefore be correct to say that Memmius is ‘submitting to fellatio’ at the hands, or rather mouth, of Catullus, even metaphorically. The term fellatio, by the way, was not defined in the original OLD at all, and the verb fello had, as its second sense, only ‘transf., as a sexual perversion’. The definitions as given therefore seem deliberately obscure, as well as misleading about the roles and intent of the people involved.

In this brief note, I wish to highlight Proclus’ unappreciated contribution to a well-documented debate in antiquity that continues to hold great contemporary interest: what psychological characteristics (such as deliberation, purposiveness, practical intelligence, but also emotions, memory and self-awareness), if any, distinguish humans from non-human animals?

In these lines from the fourth poem of his first collection of satires (1.4.9–18), Horace defines his poetic identity against the figures of his satiric predecessor Lucilius and his contemporary Stoic rival Crispinus. Horace emerges as the poet of Callimachean restraint and well-crafted writing in contrast to the chatty, unpolished prolixity of both Lucilius and Crispinus. A proponent of the highly wrought miniature over the sprawling scale of Lucilius, Horace knows when enough is enough. And, owing to a playful link between what is satis (‘enough’) and satura (‘satire’), this makes Horace not only a skilful poet but also the consummate satirist. I suggest that this programmatic message is both emphasized and illustrated by a piece of wordplay beginning in line 14. In a previously unnoticed telestich, the last letters of lines 14–18 spell out the word satis (‘enough’). Moreover, this hidden word—made possible only by the particular arrangement of words in all five of its lines—anticipates and deepens the poem's later interest in the matter of compositio, or artful word-arrangement. While this may be unique as an example of a Horatian telestich, Horace does engage in various forms of wordplay elsewhere, and could look not only to Hellenistic poets but also to Lucretius as a predecessor in this regard. In the Satires, a collection in which problems of libertas make forms of implication and veiled speech especially significant, a wide range of hidden words and wordplay has been detected and suggested. The instance observed here reaffirms Horace's interest in wordplay, while its uniqueness as a telestich is, as I hope to show, particularly suited to its context in this poem.

Odes (= Carm.) 1.29, while perhaps ‘not an important poem’ (so Commager), is a jocular address to Horace's philosophically inclined friend Iccius, who is considering joining a military expedition to Arabia; the poet remonstrates playfully with him about seeking wealth while leaving behind his philosophical studies. It ends as follows (vv. 10–16):

quis neget arduis
pronos relabi posse riuos
montibus et Tiberim reuerti

cum tu coemptos undique nobilis
libros Panaeti Socraticam et domum
mutare loricis Hiberis,
pollicitus meliora, tendis?

ille triumphata Capitolia ad alta Corintho
uictor aget currum, caesis insignis Achiuis.
eruet ille Argos Agamemnoniasque Mycenas
ipsumque Aeaciden genus armipotentis Achilli,
ultus auos Troiae, templa et temerata Mineruae. (Verg. Aen. 6.836–40)

That man will drive his chariot to the lofty Capitol in a triumph over Corinth
A victor, made glorious by the Greeks he has slaughtered.
That man will overthrow Argos and Agamemnon's Mycenae
And the very offshoot of Aeacus, the kinsman of Achilles mighty in arms,
Avenging his Trojan ancestors and the desecrated temple of Minerva.

Here, too, it may initially appear reasonable to see in uobis the same group of people, but there is little doubt that it must refer to senis nostri felicia rura, which can hardly be anything but a vocative (cf. 33 ueteris domini felicia ligna, likewise a vocative). If condatis does not refer to people, one may be tempted to accept the humanist conjecture sulci and construe the verb as addressed to the furrows. Yet I rather doubt that an address to the farm (or to the grove, as at line 33, or to the springs and the fields, as at line 90) can justify apostrophizing something as technical and down-to-earth as furrows. I think Fraenkel is right to insist on relating condatis to the same vocative as uobis, that is, rura. This interpretation is supported by the fact that the two stanzas are closely analogous (as we soon shall see in greater detail).

Carme fears that Scylla is in love with her own father (237–40); Scylla replies that she loves no one she should love, but one of the besiegers—though she can hardly bring herself to utter his name (262–7):

nil amat hic animus, nutrix, quod oportet amari,
in quo falsa tamen lateat pietatis imago,
sed media ex acie, mediis ex hostibus—eheu,
quid dicam quoue aegra malum hoc exordiar ore?        265
dicam equidem, quoniam tu nunc non dicere, nutrix,
non sinis: extremum hoc munus morientis habeto.

265 aegra Baehrens: agam Z: ipsa ρ: ausa Sillig

Chapters 6 and 7 of the pseudo-Aristotelian treatise On the Cosmos (Περὶ κόσμου = De mundo) display ‘a series of well-crafted and carefully organized analogies’ in order to represent the power of god pervading the whole universe. The last analogy (400b14–28), which is by far the most important in this section, compares the rule of god over the world to the rule of the law in a Greek city (ὁ τῆς πόλεως νόμος). As shown by the author in the previous analogies, the perfect order of the universe is the result of the continuous creation and dissolution of single things: this process—based upon the harmony of opposites—is the keystone of the eternity and equilibrium of our world. Similarly, the law is the unmoved (ἀκίνητος) mover of every activity and experience in the city: both positive and negative situations involving single citizens contribute to the supreme order and stability of the city. Positive examples include the activity of rulers, officials and members of the assemblies (ἄρχοντες, θεσμοθέται, βουλευταί, ἐκκλησιασταί), whereas negative examples include those who go to trial defending themselves (ὁ δὲ πρὸς τοὺς δικαστὰς ἀπολογησόμενος) and those who are imprisoned and destined to capital punishment (ὁ δὲ εἰς τὸ δεσμωτήριον ἀποθανούμενος). In spite of their difference, all of these actions are due to one single order (κατὰ μίαν πρόσταξιν), that is, the civic law, which ensures the stability of the city. To stress and illustrate this concordia discors, which characterizes both the city and the universe, the author of the treatise closes the passage with a quotation from Sophocles’ Oedipus Tyrannus (lines 4–5):

πόλις δ' ὁμοῦ μὲν θυμιαμάτων γέμει,
ὁμοῦ δὲ παιάνων τε καὶ στεναγμάτων

In this short note I would like to reflect again upon paragraphs 39–40 of Epicurus’ Letter to Herodotus and, more specifically, on the text printed in the last (superb and now indispensable) critical edition by Tiziano Dorandi, which I quote below together with the critical apparatus (758–9, lines 495–502):

495–496 de scholiis glossematibusque in tribus Epicuri epistulis et in RS i, vid. Dorandi, Epicuro 277–8 496–497 σώματα καὶ κενόν duce Gass. (πῇ μὲν σῶμα, πῇ δὲ κενόν) suppl. V. d. Muehll: σώματα καὶ τόπος Us. Traditam lectionem defendere conatur Arndt 26. Vid. K. Algra, Elenchos 15 (1994) 100 et D. Obbink, Philodemus On Piety. Part 1 (1996) 338–9 497 σώματα ΦFP4: σώμα· τὰ BP1498 πάντων om. Φ 499 τόπος δὲ Us.: τὸ πρόσθε B1: τὸ πρόσθεν B2PΦ: πρόσθεν F Cf. Lucr. 1.426–7 (locus) et vid. Sedley, Phronesis (1982) 183–4 εἰ δὲ Φ (coni. Gass.) 500 ὃ Φ: ὃ* B2: ὃν B1, ut vid.: ὂν PF ὃ post κενὸν traiecit Φ προεῖπον τὸ πρόσθεν· εἰ δὲ μὴ ἦν ὃ κενὸν Brieger, Seele 5 Vid. Dorandi, Epicuro 282–4 501 ἦν B: εἴη ΦFP4: ἔνι P1(Q) 502 οὐδ’ Us.: οὔτε B2PF: ὅτε B1503 περιληπτικῶς rec.

My purpose here is to point out a use of the Greek word κλῖμαξ, lit. ladder, which has not been recorded in the lexica of ancient and medieval Greek. To be specific, the term is found twice in the Therapeutics, a work by the sixth-century a.d. author and practising physician Alexander of Tralles, in reference to a particular kind of composite drug. In the first case, the author refers to the so-called ‘ladder of Hermes’ (Ἑρμοῦ κλῖμαξ, Ther. 1.557.6) without providing any recipe. According to him, this is an antidote for the treatment of epilepsy and similar in action to the well-known theriac. However, in the second case referring to an antidote for the treatment of gout, the ‘so-called ladder’, he provides the following recipe (Ther. 2.571.16–26):